Beatrice and Benedick - Childhood
by Jeanne Prouvaire
Summary: A selection of snippets from the childhoods of Beatrice and Benedick, with varying degrees of cuteness. Actual fluff may follow. Fluff in exchange for reviews! Chapters 2 and 3 revised and chapter 4 up!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – A Memorable First Meeting**

**OK****, so I ran out of reading matter and no one was writing any more Shakespeare fanfics, so I got bored and wrote this myself. There will probably be a few chapters showing snippets from their childhood together, and then I will do a new fic to cover their teenage years and brief relationship before the Separation. (Yes, it does have to be spelled with a capital S!)**

**I'm not Shakespeare, funnily enough. Nothing you recognise is mine, and the only characters owned by me are Benedick's parents(Or their personalities, at least), Beatrice's father Angelo (Or his name anyway) and Benedick's older brother Lorenzo. Benedick is a Signor rather than a count, but he's still a noble not a commoner, so I assume he is a younger son. And I own the nameless groom. Everything else is property of the Bard himself.**

**OK, OK,on with the story!**

Not an hour after Benedick and Beatrice were married, as they danced together and wondered over how their feelings towards one another had changed from hatred to love over but the course of one seven-night, Benedick realised that one of his earliest memories was of the day he first met Beatrice.

It had been a beautiful day one sunny June, when lord diPadua, the father of the three year old Benedick, received news that his friend Signor Leonato of Messina's wife had successfully borne their first babe; a healthy girl-child they had decided to give the name of Hero, after the mythical true-love of Leander. When he heard of it, nothing would do but for lord diPadua, his lady, their ten year old heir Lorenzo and their younger son Benedick, aged three and now presentable in polite company as he had recently undergone the rite of passage of changing from the wearing of a baby's petticoats to a boy's short breeches, to all take the long carriage ride and short boat trip from Padua to Messina on the Isle of Sicily.

What seemed like a week later, but was in reality more like a day, the family rode up to Messina, Benedick grumpy and saddle-sore on the back of his first pony, being led by a servant who was holding the beast's reins and getting over tired with the young boy's incessantly precocious whining and chatter.

"If ye do not stow your tattling, Master Benedick," said the groom, cast iron patience in his tone, "I will take out from under you that pillion cushion, and it will go back in the saddlebag, mark you, and you will have to take the ride home in a bare saddle like every other body."

Benedick muttered darkly, but kept his complaints for a later time and a more sympathetic ear. They trotted up to the house, and Benedick slid off the back of his little steed, glad to be out of the saddle.

"At last!" he cried, "Papa, can we see the babe an'the family now?"

"We must wait for Signor Leonato to come to u – Good Signor!" He greeted his old friend as the man came in to the courtyard. Benedick looked up at Signor Leonato in interest. He saw a man of pale complexion, with dark hair and beard, and dancing blue eyes, who laughed as he embraced lord and lady diPadua. He ruffled Lorenzo's hair in an affectionate sort of way, then bent down to stare at Benedick, who was staring back.

"Who is this little lad then?" asked Leonato "Be this the chattersome younger boy about whom I have heard so much – Benedick, is it? Thou art not talking now."

"But, sir, there wasn't anythink to talk about, sir." the articulate child explained. "Except to greet you, which takes but few words."

Benedick's mother sighed. "I apologise for my youngest son, Signor, he always was a precocious child, from his very birth."

"Ah, forget not, my lady diPadua, that I also was a younger son until the death of my brother Angelo not three months past." sighed Leonato, "A dreadful blessing to me, I feel, for I lose my brother and my best friend, but gain a bonny babe to be a sister to my own. Poor mite, to lose both parents in less than one twelve-month, and she not yet so old as the twelve-month itself. Well, younger boys will chatter, mark you, and he will have a clever tongue on him yet, this one!" And with that, the man turned and led them into the house.

They passed several suites of rooms, none of them the one where the new baby was to live, with the mysterious sister who was not Leonato's own bay. Suddenly they took a turn down a side corridor, and found themselves in a bright, airy room, painted all in cream and blue. There were two cribs at one end, and little Benedick made straight for one of these, the larger, although older and more battered, of the two. He stood on tiptoe to peer in, and saw a happy, smiling baby girl, with green eyes and russet curls atop her head.

"It'sa very fair bay," he said, his tone one of curiosity and wonder, "Its hair is all red." Leonato laughed.

"That's not my babe! That one came of my late brother Angelo's getting, but his wife died of childbed fever a week after bearing the child, and Angelo died of grief not a year later, so now baby Beatrice lives with us." He gestured towards the second crib, "_That_ one is _my_ daughter." Everyone gathered around the smaller cradle. This babe was littler than baby Beatrice, and darker of complexion and hair colour. She too was awake, but did not smile up at them as the older bay had. She looked at them in a kind of awe, even fear, of these people who wanted to look at her.

"_That's_ Hero." Leonato explained proudly, "She seems somewhat quieter than her cousin. Bea never really cries, but she babbles away, and being the elder knows a few words already, even what they mean." As if to illustrate this point, a small arm appeared from the cot containing the older girl, and as it waved vaguely in the direction of Benedick, a small, clear voice issued from the crib – "Boy." Leonato smiled.

"I do not remember hearing her say that ere she did so just then. She must know what it means though." Benedick looked back at the younger child, Hero. He did not find this one nearly so interesting as her older cousin, or so pretty.

"This one's _face_ is all red." he remarked innocently.

He still remembered his father thrashing him for that, as young as he had been. He had never been able to keep his mouth shut, at any age.

**What do you think? Is my Shakespearean worth the effort it took to find a happy medium between the way a precocious three year old talks and the way Shakespeare's characters talk? I promise it will be better when Beatrice and Benedick are a little bit older! And I'm going for and angle where they are best friends but still argue all the time until the friendship suddenly goes (Probably in their mid/late teens) and all that's left is the arguing. Not sure what's going to happen there. Maybe what I need is some prompts. *****Awkward silence. Whistles a tune and lets eyes fall innocently on review button* Seriously though; review please, I need to know what you lot think of my writing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – What is this boy that dost not agree with me?**

**OK, here it is - Chapter 2! Many thanks to Zebra and Rowe for putting up with my Shakespeare obsession and bearing my gripes about the lack of reviews for chapter 1. Is my writing really that bad?If it is, please review and tell me how I can make it better. And prompts are accepted like sweeties. Yes, I know that it has taken ages to update, I'm sorry, it's hard to cross the way kids argue with the way B&B argue.**

Beatrice and Benedick left the string of dancers, and ducked out of the hall. Beatrice espied a bench beneath a great willow tree, and they sat down upon it, content in each other's arms. Suddenly Benedick chuckled.

"What is't that makest thou laugh so, Husband?" asked Beatrice, temporarily confused, "Any particular thing, or but general happiness?" Benedick laughed again.

"I simply recollected that 'twas under this very tree we held our first battle of wits, Bea."

"Troth I had forgotten that. I daresay the prince will still swear that there ne'er was such a first skirmish, but that we have simply argued since the beginning of time. I remember now."

How could she have forgotten? She had been five, almost six, and Hero had been four, or a bit short of that, when Uncle had told them that Don Pablo, the then Prince of Arragon, was going on progress that summer, and that he and his court would spend a month or more in Messina, and that this was a _very great honour_ and so they were to be _exceeding good_ ( It was obvious to Beatrice even then that this comment was entirely for her own benefit, and ne'er for Hero's.) and not to chatter shrewdly at the _important grown-ups _who would be living with them for a while (fiery Hades would freeze before shy, meek little Hero needed to be told this).

They had been told that there would be children coming with the progress, though 'twas granted that 'children' meant 'boys', a new species which intrigued Bea as it terrified Hero. Neither of them had e'er encountered males of their own age before, and each of them knew monstrous little of what to expect. When Bea attempted to ask Ursley, their seventeen year old nurse, she was met with the advice of a woman who was fed to the teeth with dealing with the heartburns of twelve year old Meg –

"Speak not to them, and they'll speak not to thee, 'tis the best way." When she inquired with Meg, she received the most perplexing piece of advice she had been given in her four year of life –

"Ooh, aren't you just a mite young for 'all that'?" It had taken Bea _years_ to puzzle out what moral Margaret had in saying this.

She knew that the Prince had a son who would be coming with him, for she had heard Uncle Antonio speak of "where the little prince Pedro is staying", but she knew not how many other lads would be with him.

The day the court arrived, Messina became awash with activity. When the first luggage carts arrived, they were swarmed over by servants, ready to dismantle the large piles of baggage, and giving unto the carts the semblance of an anthill which had been kicked.

They heard the Prince's train before they saw it. The sound of bugles, hooves and voices got gradually louder, until the head of the train rounded a corner, and Beatrice and Hero, leaning out of their window (in truth, Beatrice may have been leaning out of the window, but Hero saw fit to merely peer cautiously over the frame) saw it; a great, glittering serpent, moving slowly up the road towards the estate. And that armoured figure in front had to be the Prince, Don Pablo, ruler of Arragon, Messina, Florence, Padua and Calabria.

At his heels there were a gaggle of smaller figures, each mounted on ponies, and lead by a tall, swarthy skinned boy with a regal posture, closely followed by a smaller lad with blond hair, who glanced up at the house, saw Hero and Bea, and waved most forwardly. Hero squeaked and ducked down behind the sill, but Bea waved wildly back, giggling at the boy's antics. Maybe lads were not such poised, powerful creatures as Ursula said they were. Even he who looked to be one of the eldest of these, also lanky and swarthy, trailed at the back of the group, apparently plying that jewel of Beatrice's trinket box of ways to manipulate grown-ups, outright sulking.

Bea scampered down the stair and into the courtyard, dragging Hero behind her. They arrived just in time to be chivvied back up the stairway by an anxious Ursula. "Nay, Beatrice, young ladies are to be neither beheld nor heard." She tried to protest that they had been beheld already, by the blond boy who had waved at them, but Ursley would not hear her.

They waited in an agony of impatience as voices drifted up from the courtyard, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, half an hour, and just as Bea was fit to scream, Meg and Ursley came in, carrying Hero and Beatrice's frightful, uncomfortable best clothes and with the instructions for Bea to dress herself, then to help Hero, and to be both of them down in the ballroom fit for presentation to the Prince and his court in the next half-hour.

Seething at being kept uninformed of the proceedings, and at having to don her hated best clothes, Bea dressed most reluctantly, and assisted her cousin in fastening the stays and sleeves of her dress. She brushed her own and Hero's hair, and they made their way, with great eagerness, down to the ballroom. Bea would have marched straight in, but Hero tugged on her sleeve, shook her head, and with her thumb firmly in her mouth, knocked on the door.

It was opened by two footmen in royal livery, and the girls walked inside. Leonato sat at the dais, entertaining His Grace and the regal looking boy, while the smiling blond and the dark, sullen lad who Bea took to be the eldest, along with an older blond, looked on.

Leonato stood when he saw the girls, and beckoned them over. The younger blond boy grinned at them, and Bea smiled back, while Hero widened her big, dark eyes, but said nothing.

"Your Grace, my daughter and my niece. The little one is my daughter Hero, the taller is Beatrice, only child of my late brother." Bea curtsied and smiled up at the Prince.

"My lord." Hero too dropped a curtsey, and removed her thumb from her mouth, but still uttered not a sound. Don Pablo beamed indulgently.

"I' faith Signor, thou art lucky indeed, with such charming young ladies to be proud of, marry they are truly an asset to your house. My lady Hero, lady Beatrice, I am delighted to meet you both. I am sure my son and his companions are wishful of being introduced to you." he gestured towards the boys, and each stepped forward as his name was called, "My son and heir, crown prince Don Pedro of Arragon," the kingly looking boy who appeared to be in charge bowed, smiling, and Don Pablo continued, "My… son, Don John, Count of Arragon," the sullen boy, who appeared to be twelve or thirteen year old, stepped up, "Count Lorenzo diPadua," a different, older blond from the grinning boy who had waved to Bea and Hero, bowed and kissed Hero's hand, while the shy little girl blushed furiously, "And Master Benedick diPadua, younger brother to Count Lorenzo and on progress at the special request of Prince Pedro." the spritely blond boy with the grin finally stepped forward, bowed, and promptly did away with protocol by kissing the hand of dowryless Bea, and ignoring Hero, the heir to the estate, but to smile to her.

Everyone except Hero looked slightly shocked, especially Bea, who had never been treated as being more important than Hero despite her superior age, and who, though she could see that these boys had been told to be courteous to them for the sake of forming an alliance, she was sure that no such alliance had been intended for her, since marriage with her, she knew already, was worth very little, because she held only the deeds to one small Calabrian estate which had been Uncle's until he inherited Messina from her father. There was no rule, as such, why the boy – master Benedick – should not approach her first, rather than the very relieved looking Hero, but common sense should have forbidden it. Master Benedick looked to be perchance a year, two year older than her, so he should have known better.

There was a moment's silence, and then Don Pablo cleared his throat in what seemed to Beatrice to be an unnecessarily awkward fashion, and said

"That is the sum of all. You children, run you outside to the gardens, and amuse yourselves for this short while, we grown-ups have most uninteresting matters to discuss."

They needed but little encouragement to do so. Every child, including Prince Pedro, walked in a most stately fashion to the door, which was opened by the two footmen. As soon as it was closed behind them, every child (except Hero, who, needs demanding it, was being towed along by Bea once again, and Count Lorenzo, who seemed to think it below his dignity), including Prince Pedro, broke into a run and dashed down the corridor and out to the gardens, only stopping when they reached the willow which overhung the stream.

"I must say, highness, that I for one am glad there is no need for _me_ to sit up on that dais being polite to folk while my companions perch on comfortable seats and watc – " began Master Benedick, before Prince Pedro laughed and shoved him, breaking the younger boy off his teasing.

"'Tis a cruel thing when one's best friend takes it upon his seven year old self to knock a fellow down from his superiority. Is't not a fine thing that I have thee to keep me humble?"

Bea rolled her eyes and fished out her daybooke from the pocket of her petticoat, it being far more interesting than the ensuing scuffle which followed from this comment. This drew the boys' interest away from their playfighting, and towards the rare sight of a literate young girl.

"A daybooke, milady Beatrice?" enquired Count Lorenzo, "It is not seemly for a woman to write. If thou wishest any husband, thou shouldst cease thy scribbling, and take up embroidery. 'Tis a much more praiseworthy skill." And the thirteen year old stomped off, back to the house.

"Take no offense of him, Lady Beatrice," piped up Benedick, "He is a stuffy bum-bailey and he be too thick skulled to realise as much." He sat himself down upon the grass, and patted the ground next him. Bea sat, laughing at the name he gave unto his own elder brother.

"Now, for myself I see a good friend in a woman who reads and writes, and to do so at the age of but five year suggests a talent for it. 'Tis a most useful skill when thou hast nothing of any great import to do." Bea gasped most indignantly at his arrogance over the matter of what her sex were permitted to do, conveniently forgetting that being disallowed from doing anything interesting was her _own_ excuse for her reading so oft.

"Well excuse _me_, Master male pride!" The prince and his brother edged closer to them, sensing a most amusing fight in the offing. Hero edged away, gazing solemnly upon the emerging scene, as Master Benedick accepted the challenge, clearly confident of beating the younger girl.

"Male pride? Nay! I meant only that those of your sex seem to have a most unnecessary level of free time, mayhap you have by chance, as John here would say, gone 'Suspicious Female', and so taken imaginary moral from my truly innocent spaken words." There was what Bea considered to be an 'unnecessary level'of barely-suppressed mirth issuing from behind the hands of Don Pedro and of Don John. She had to change its victim.

"Is't such a great wonder that females be yet suspicious, when there are such suspect males as thyself to be suspicious of? Why, e'en the _counts, dukes, _and_ princes _of both legend and truth have been known to give their women cause to suspect their own menfolk in their very hearts, base _masters_ and _signors_ not requiring my stressing of the matter!" For some reason or another, Prince Pedro seemed to find this comment infinitely more amusing than Count John, who resumed his scowling at the word 'hearts', and turned sullenly to trudge back towards the house. Benedick; meanwhile, ignored the jibe at his status and returned the volley with –

"O, base? 'Tis thy state of humour which is base, lady, base to the point of being _choler_ic."

"Should I speak of thy state of humour? Such _bile_ as thou spewest, it may suffice to ask, what state of humour?"

"Why, my state of humour is most finely balanced, enough to see the _blood_ rising in thy face and temper!"

"May the blood in my face fill mine eyes, so I may look not on _your_ face, for truly, the sight of it is painful to them!" She had won. Benedick could not counter it, and he finished rather lamely with –

"Come, let us be friends, I tire of arguing and wish only to spite thine eyes by inflicting my face on them. Friendship will allow me to do so." Don Pedro laughed harder than ever.

"Come on, Benedick, she has beaten thee. Thy tricks will not work on her, I warrant she will ever know when she has won, e'en after such a meaningful jibe as that. I do beg pardon of thee, did I say meaning_ful_? Troth I meant meaning_less_."

Even Hero giggled at that, and Benedick extended his hand to Bea and said

"Truly though, Lady Beatrice, let's be friends. If thou art to impose thy tongue on folk, I want to be on thy side of the argument when thou dost. _Do_ go thee and tell Lorenzo what thou hast told me, I wish only to watch his face when thou dost." Bea shook his hand and said

"I'm Bea, to my friends. Dost thou have a nickname, Master diPadua?" He sighed.

"Well, high-horse here" he shoved the Prince, "Calls me Ben, but that be simply to irk me. Why don't we do away with all this 'master' nonsense and just call me Benedick? And I think not that the 'diPadua' be necessary either. I try so _hard_ to pretend I have no connection with Lorenzo."

Almost twenty years later, Beatrice reflected that not a soul had called her Bea ere the present moment, since she was fifteen. It had not been the fact that she had grown past a nickname, but that _he_ had almost always called her Bea from that happy moment onwards, and after the… misunderstanding when she was fifteen and he sixteen, once they had gone their separate ways, no-one was in any great haste to remind her of him, lest she start spouting insults again.

"You know, his grace really would have no argument for such a statement. He were there to witness thee starting it." said Beatrice.

"_I_ start it? Not so! Thou didst start it!"

"Nay, 'twas thine own comment that sparked my reply."

"My comment? _Thy_ feminine suspicion!"

"O! So 'tis we are back to this, and, i 'faith, thou hast started it again!"

"Not I, Bea, not I!"

"Ay, 'tis so!"

"'Tis not!"

"'Tis so!"

"'Tis not!"

"'Tis so!"

"'Tis not!"

"'Tis so!"

"Ay, well enough, 'twas so."

"Ha!"

**That fictional jelly watch is still unclaimed! What am I doing wrong? Is it really too much effort to type in that inviting little box in the right hand corner? Next chapter may be on the theme of 'Picnic'. Now please review or there will be NO FLUFF!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – The Succeeding Day of That Long Summer**

**Disclaimer: Still not Shakespeare. Ah well.**

**Look, chapter 3! I am aware that it is shorter than chapters 1 and 2, but at least it's here. Many, many, many thanks to Meg, who posted the only reviews by someone other than my schoolfriends, and convinced me to write another chapter. I have now completely run out of ideas, so please post prompts, because Zebra's are a bit... well... Modern - Cheesy wotsits to you too, Zeb.**

"Expect thee not to win every skirmish of me so, Bea; forget not that I won many of our battles on progress, and so backward and forth went the victories all that summer while the court remained at Messina that one moon or a little longer." Parried Benedick.

"Hmph. Not done with thy much-reused Jade's Tricks I see." The tongue on that woman! Did he not love her so well as he did, Benedick would despise her so much as ever. No other quarreled with him so long.

The day after the newly remembered first skirmish of their merry war, Ben, Bea and all the other children had ridden (Hero's tiny bay gelding still led by a rein tied to Bea's feisty little chestnut pony, Beatrice's stallion having authority over the smaller mountain cob, and taking second place as king stallion only to Prince Pedro's magnifical miniature white Arab; since, Hero being so little as she were, she could not yet ride unaided) up the hill which fronted the Messina estate, towards the Familia deMessina's favourite spot for picnickes, with baskets fulled with their luncheon strapped to their saddles, and the strict instructions issued them that the prince and the two counts were responsible for all the younger childern.

Benedick swiftly espied trouble arising with Bea's side-saddle. The girl had been fidgeting the whole way, clearly discomfited by both the silly, impractical way to ride, and the knowledge that it held back the lads, and now each time he looked, the girth-stringes looked a little more frayed, one more stringe having snapped every time he glanced back. Once or twice he caught a flash of metal in the corner of his een. He were unconcerned at first, but after three of the things went, he felt he had to amention as much.

"Bea, look thee to thy girth, 'tis breaking 'apieces." Bea looked down with an expression of exaggerate horror, and cried

"O spite! 'Tis so! Now must I ride bareback, or not at all!" She slid from the saddle, and as she did so her sash pressed against the outlined shape of what Ben realised a'suspicion to be a small meat knife. Meanwhile, Bea untied the remaining girth-stringes, and thrust the saddle to the ground. She attempted to mount her beast again, bareback, and promptly fell back to the ground. She continued to create a great deal of bother while she repeatedly mounted and slid off. Eventually the girl stood and made and exasperate sighing noise.

"Fie on this, 'tis impossible! I cannot ride bareback! Can any one of you?" They looked around at each other. The only boys who could ride without saddle were the Prince, and, because the Prince had shown him on the way to Messina, Ben.

"I can, Bea. So can the Prince." A crafty look, which worried Ben greatly, overcame Bea's face.

"Why then, wilt thou not lend me a saddle? I know to ride as a peasant-girl so well as a lady."

"Thou dost? I have an inkling 'twas not e'er your uncle's intention." The girl grinned.

"Your inkling be correct, for 'twas Meg that taught me, not any of uncle's hostlers." Ben raised an eyebrow, but dismounted and untied his own girth-stringes, and handed his own saddle to Bea. Fie on that girl, she had picked up his accursed nickname in an eyeblink, and now thought he of _himself_ as Ben. As he handed over the saddle, he bent down to whisper in her ear

"And cut you the strings on this, I shall ne'er lend you anything o' mine again." This last reduced both of them to helpless giggles, and so each refused to explain to the others at what it was they laughed so.

Bea mounted again, astride her pony as well as any boy, and grinning most happily. They continued up the hill, once Hero had been retied to Bea's new saddle. When the children reached the summit, the terrain flattened out, and they leapt once more from their little steeds. Ben proceeded to cast his saddlebags to the ground and unwrap the parcels of food inside. All the others did likewise, but none with such great speed. Bea and the Prince laughed to see his eagerness to eat, while Lorenzo and Count John looked with scorn on the younger boy and on the quality of the victual contained in the packages. Hero gingerly took her own luncheon from Bea's saddlebag, and silently picked her way through one of the parcels – Stuffed vine leaves with pepper and chickpeas.

"Such haste! Broke thou not thy fast this morning, that thou hungerest still?" Laughed Beatrice, reaching for her own food.

"I broke my fast, but not my hunger. Now I presently desire my luncheon." Explained Ben, digging into his own stuffed leaf. All the children resumed eating, until, soon enough, Ben came to a decision that all was too quiet, and resolved to break the silence by lobbing an olive stone at his brother. It hit the older boy squarely in the ear, and Lorenzo leapt to his feet, enraged. Bea and the Prince both collapsed in a paroxysm of giggling, while even John, Lorey's friend of the heart and sworn brother (Lorey considering himself deficient in adequately stuffy true brothers) seemed, for once, to be struggling with amusement that did not victimise firstly, Ben, or secondly, women. Lorey himself, however, seemed (for his own inexplicable reasons) to be somewhat distressed by the state of affairs. He cast a fistful of pinenuts at Ben, and proceeded to holler at him.

"Hast thou no respect for my superior age, _little brother?_ I must confess to thee that I think myself above such base, childish behavi – " Another olive stone became mysteriously incarnate in the vicinity of Lorenzo's other ear. He whirled about in the direction from whence it came, coming to face Bea, who were near sobbing with laughter.

"Lady Beatrice!" exclaimed Lorenzo, purple of countenance, his fury were such, "Thou dost sorely test e'en my refined state of humour!"

"S-state of humour, my lord?" choked Beatrice, "Pardon my maidenly confusion, did you say state of humour? Forgive of me mine ignorance, I beg, but _what_ state of humour? And have not you demonstrated already that conversing with us is beneath you?" Lorenzo gave a commendable imitation of a man on the brink of explosion, struggled with himself a moment longer, then turned on his heel and, with all dignity, walked over to his pony, mounted, and kicked the poor beast into a gallop, cantering down the hill and back to the house.

Bea watched him thoughtfully as he took his leave.

"Thou wast right, Ben, thine elder brother _is_ a stuffy bum-bailey. I pray thee, was thine observation of his face so satisfying as thou hopest? I, for my part, found it monstrous so."

Count Lorenzo diPadua inherited his father's estate at the age of fifteen year. He were a negligent master to the people of Padua, and deserted from his friend Don John of Arragon's side halfway through the war in which Don John attempted to take the throne from his popular younger brother - Don Pedro, rightful ruler of Arragon, Messina, Florence, Padua and Calabria - by force. He died childless the month after Benedick and Beatrice were married, leaving them lord and lady of Padua. It were ten year into their marriage when Beatrice and Benedick eventually managed to complete their task of restoring Padua from Lorenzo's neglect, but it were a happier, wealthier Padua was finally inherited, five and twenty year after that, by their firstborn, Count Pedro diPadua.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Sweet Vengeance**

**Right, friendly-type fluffy stuff. Review please. Chapter 5 will be Beatrice's birthday.**

Beatrice bounced the child upon her knee and sighed. Wherefore had not they bethought how chattersome any babe of theirs would be ere they had 't? "Sweeting, Papa and I would that thou would'st to sleep now. Were it truly necessary to tell us of thy wish for a real observation tower in the middle of the night? It could have waited 'til the morn." The girl gazed up at her mother, appearing confused. Antonia had never found need of much sleep, and at four year it most obviously bemused her that her mother, father and elder brother required so long.

"But, Mama, will not the stars be gone on the morn? A new observation tower is of little use in the day. I had to ask at night." Beatrice laughed, and explained

"Do not the stars come back each new evening? 'Twould take more than one night for us to build a whole new tower on any road. It took Uncle Lorenzo fifteen year _not_ to build an observation tower. Or a barn. Or a new church. Or much at all. Mayhap we could have such a tower built in six moons, but awakening us at midnight will make it come no swifter. Now, get thee to sleep. Think of poor Pedro in this next room. He would some sleep, no doubt." Evident content with such knowledge of a future observation tower, Antonia finally hopped back into her bed and drew the curtains around herself. She bade her mother good-night, and Beatrice left the room, shutting the door behind.

She climbed into her own bed with a sigh, and prodded Benedick, who had fallen back into slumber ere she had gone to deal with Antonia.

"What?" he muttered, unable to come up with any more cutting piece of wit at three of the morn.

"Tomorrow, _thou_ canst get up and find out whate'er 'tis she has thought of. She would an observation tower. _I_ would a nursemaid. Curse Ursley, she be already busying herself with Hero's little boys. Of all the woodwild tricks Hero could choose for her first piece of mischief, she bore twins first time round? Ay, I _know_ Antonia alone is trouble enough for twins, but in the least we had Pedro first. And Margaret would sure be the cause of more troubles as a nurse to Annie, not the cure. They be each so bad as the other."

"Ursula said so much regarding Margaret and thee, once. Thou _wast_ inclined to chatter."

"Not at three of the clock, Ben! 'Tis not the same."

"Thou wast ever like unto a dog with a bone about that nickname. 'Tis all for spite of me. I feel sure that never thought I of such spiteful retaliations as thee. Cleverer, but not so spiteful."

"'Twere all but those in words against Lorenzo, and he allway deserved it. For thyself have I still written evidence that thou once acknowledged my tricks to be cleverer than thine."

"Curses. 'Tis true enough."

_Ay_, thought Beatrice, _true enough_. The first time Lorenzo had settled upon her as a victim, he had sore regretted it. It had been a week into the progress, when Lorenzo took his revenge for the picnicke. Unable to wreak vengeance on his brother, who had thrown the first missile, foiled by the protection born of Benedick's friendship with the then Prince Pedro, he had sought out Count John and they had contracted to settle their score with Bea in a most dreadful way. On that Sunday morn after church, Count John had Borachio, the son of an Arragon man-at-arms, lure Benedick away from a most animated conversation (quarrel) with Beatrice. No sooner was he out of sight than Lorey and John had grabbed Bea, muzzled her, and dragged her into the castle buttery. They prised the lid from a cask of ale, tipped the contents out upon the floor, and pushed Bea inside the barrel ere she knew what she was about. John replaced the lid, muffling the cries of the screaming girl, and fastened its lock. He and Lorey roughly tipped the barrel back upright, and so further knocked Bea about as it rolled upon its base. Lorey crouched down to whisper malevolently through the wood to the sobbing Beatrice, who was too proud to beg for release. "Test thee not my patience again, wench. Thine own family, Prince Pedro, and my foolish younger brother may tolerate such shrewdness, but I'll none. Who art thou, but a reluctantly tolerated, dowryless ward to a small country house, to pelt the heir of a respectable estate with missiles? Expect not mercy at my hands, _girl_. Those of _true_ breeding forget not such an offense to their honour." A cough from John, forgotten but until that moment, seemed to chastise Count Lorenzo's use of breeding as an insult whilst Count John were his sole confidant.

Lorenzo gave the barrel one last kick, and Bea heard the door slam. She whimpered, and so consider'd her predicament. Slowly she eased her bruisèd limbs into a more comfortable position. No-one would hear her should she scream, and although she might be able to roll the barrel to the door, she were locked inside, and the buttery door secured with bolt and pin. She began to weep in earnest. _Curse the counts! Curse them!_ _Locked in a beerbarrel for all eternity for the petty crime of throwing an olive stone!_ In fact, she reasoned, she like as not was not to remain for eternity. She had heard tell that some of Italy's more avaricious young noblemen would sell young girls into slavery or worse, all to earn a little coin atop their regular income. Or else, they would ransom the girl and, should her family not pay the price, would marry her and seize her dowry. Ha, even Lorenzo would not do that! Had not he said for himself that he knew she had no dowry? Second, Lorenzo hated her far beyond the bounds of contracting a marriage for spite. And lastly, such knaves as found that needs must they would auction off kidnapped girls for a sum of coin were most usually poor younger sons in need of funds, not the heirs to wealthy estates. Were Lorenzo, with his mind so twisted, the younger; and Ben the heir, _then_ would she believe it. And yet… Hell's teeth! She being in such a state, what _had_ the bedlam young counts done to Ben? 'T had been he that cast the first stone, and the malice of the counts clearly knew no bounds, to lock a five-year-old in a barrel still a finger's depth filled with ale. So speaking, the fumes from the drink began to make her distempered. The last thought she had before her head fell back and she swooned was of what they could possibly have made Ben suffer.

Three hours later, and the frantic search for Beatrice began to reach cellar level. Headed by Ben, the search party clattered down the stairs, Bea stirring and groaning in her barrel as the noise dinned her ears. She heard a faint voice, the voice of junior watchman Dogberry, say "It is exultant I am, good Master Benedick, but sure the lady cannot be down here, for her uncle had the door barred tight, only he and the Prince's man-at-arms had the keys, and unless she mistook the key from the man or his son – Bor… Borato? I see not how she could be down here."

"Well, I shall look but a little further down these steps, go you back and tell Signor Leonato to pray God we find her."

Ben was here! Disregarding all reasonable hope, as she heard the buttery door open, Bea flung herself agin the barrel's side, making it rock. She heard Ben's footsteps pause.

"Bea?" The voice was faint through the thick oak of the barrel, but 'twas there. Suddenly she felt her prison rock again as the boy grabbed the top of 't and wrenched it departed from its lid and lock.

"BEA!" He roared, and dragged her from the barrel. "Do not you ever – ever! Afright me so again! Ever!" He pulled her into a fierce hug, hot tears streaming down both youngsters' faces. Beatrice's knees, knotted from being so twisted inside the cask, gave way. Ben seized her before she hit the floor, and scooped her into his arms, carrying her all the way up the huge flight of steps and into the light.

He laid her down upon a bench, and said "What happened? Jove's sandals, _who_ happened? This looks not even like one of _thy_ foolish tricks." Bea divulged what she knew of Lorenzo's plan, and confessed her concern that Lorey would seek to play some similar trick on Ben. He dismissed this, however, and, having sent a servant to find Prince Pedro, played absently with a coppery lock of Bea's hair as he sat and attended the rest of her tale. Bea discovered that she liked it here in this peaceful corner of the castle, her greatest friend in this world holding her hand and toying with her hair, whilst her family were inform'd of her discovery and subsequent rescue. She appreciated for the first time in her life that all Lorenzo had alleged about her being kept but grudgingly at Messina was an untruth, she was part of the family, and she was there because Messina was her home. Her thoughts were heeded, she was cared for, and she was loved. And now she had friends, real friends, who would keep up the search for her no matter the odds. She appreciated for the first time, as the boy holding her hand pulled her into another hug, as her family ran over and, tearful, thanked Benedick for finding her, as Prince Pedro asked most concernèdly after her wellbeing, that someone loved her, truly loved her, and she found that she liked so much.

Locking Beatrice in a beerbarrel had seen Lorenzo packing to ride back to Padua in disgrace, and John likewise to Arragon. It had taken Bea a week to recover from her injuries, and from the ailment brought on by the fumes of drink. Benedick had visited her every day, and helpfully hidden the physician's bloodletting kit where the doctor could not find it. He had brought her sweetmeats, and made sure at Bea's request that Hero was happy enough in Beatrice's absence. Bea convalesced just in time to witness Lorenzo and John's departure. Ere they left, she set her revenge in motion. She directed Benedick and Prince Pedro to the woods the day in advance of the counts' withdrawal from progress, that they might collect the monstrous irksome itching rash powder from the seeds of plane trees, with pairs of gloves and the words "They be your brothers." The powder then found its way into the young counts' loincloths and riding breeches thanks to Meg and the other girls in the laundry. Finally, the morning of their departure, Meg and the other laundrywomen soaked the boys' belts in salt water, so that the leather would shrink and harden a few hours into the journey. The lads would, like as not, be trying to cut their breeches off with knives by the time they reached Calabria.

A few weeks later, three days after the rest of the progress moved on, Bea received a letter from Benedick which she kept as a trophy even after she announced that she never wanted to see him again.

_Dearest Bea,_

_Lorey is not thy greatest admirer of late. He tells me that not only did he start to itch most terribly shortly after departing, but when he tried to remove his breeches, his belt was too tight to come off and as solid as a bit of wood. He had to jump in a dewpond ere it would loosen. Those breeches will ne'er again be the same. Papa insists that for a perfectly well made leather baldrick to shrink so is impossible, and thrashed Lorey for telling falsehoods. I might have thought of itching powder but never would I have considerèd to preclude him from removing the offending breeches after. 'Twas truly a stroke of brilliance on thy part. I applaud thee on such a masterly plan and will refer to thee the next time I wish to irk Lorenzo. Hark back to me never to let Miss Margaret wash my clothes should I visit Messina as Papa said I could._

_And so I commit you to the tuition of God,_

_From La Palatia diPadua,_

_The Second of September,_

_Your (highly impressed) friend,_

_Benedick._


End file.
